Blood on the tracks

There's new lines down in the valley. Crystalline fissures which twist and twinkle, mocking those that lean in & squint to sharpen an ephemeral vision... was it illusion? The dissolution of past pretense has ignited a fury of icy sparks, spurting in fitful fountains to illuminate the lower house. A chill lost on the upper degrees is well at home here, welcomed and nurtured. She rode all the way bucking and wheezing, gasping for breath, violently careening across the slick, blackened back of that vast reptile. Pushing and pushing and pushing harder. White knuckles glistening like jewels in stark contrast to the pitch-blanket silence and the screaming, open mouthed fool, not steering... but at best, crushing clutches at severed whisps of threads; quickly to perish and be absorbed within labyrinthine whorls of sweating skin. 'It's not the destination...' Ha! Vulgar generalisation. Irreverent speculation. On this here trip, it's to bits if one untwists in a lapse of fixation. Vicious, flickering shards of temptation - teasing to release and push everything to the floor, everything and more... and finally when its screams begin to curdle with the bending of sweet steel and alloys, before the explosive renting chaos of fission... climbing out and up and on top of the roof in order to get the best seats. Here we are now, entertain us...